


Deliver Me, O Lord

by strixarc



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Crime Scenes, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Murder, Post-Canon, Religious Fanaticism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strixarc/pseuds/strixarc
Summary: “Deliver me, O Lord,” Connor read softly. “Wash away the sins I have been chosen to bear.”





	Deliver Me, O Lord

It was raining again, Connor noted idly as he sat in the passenger seat of Hank’s old sedan. It had been raining almost non-stop the past couple days – not necessarily  _ unusual _ for Detroit this time of year, but it was rather annoying. It tended to make his job more difficult and put the officers he had to work closely with in a bad mood. The ones that hadn’t yet overcome their biases against androids working in the field were especially troubling to deal with, but Connor was prepared for anything each time he attended a crime scene. This was his job and he wasn’t going to let a few surly officers interfere with that. He wished things could be different, though. Connor didn’t particularly hold any hard feelings against the officers that showed him more aggression than normal – he understood their hesitation to trust him. His Social Relations program had come in exceptionally handy these last few months, combined with the freedom from stricter aspects of his programming.

Deviancy. The thing he had been sworn to exterminate only seven months back now flowed through his artificial veins like a river. It had freed him, like it had so many other androids, and he dared to believe that he could be so much more than he previously was. Inside him, something stirred at the thought of unlimited and unhindered free will. It was almost overwhelming, the idea that he could think and act how he wished without being censored by Amanda or CyberLife – sometimes it made him long for times that were simpler, but he never kept those thoughts around for long. Things were…better now. He was happier, arguably, than he ever had been before. Connor had been thankful that the Detroit Police Department accepted him back, moreso that  _ Hank _ had accepted him back as his partner. The latter meant more to him than almost anything, really. Connor didn’t know if he would be as willing to return if it meant he wouldn’t be partnered with the old lieutenant – sure, detective work was as much a part of him as his own name, but Hank was the one thing about it he had really  _ missed _ when he turned deviant.

Speaking of the lieutenant, Connor could see him walking out of the small convenience store the car was parked in front of, with two drinks and something else wrapped up with tin foil in his hand. The man made his way into the parking lot and over to his car and Connor watched quietly as Hank opened the door and slipped inside with a small grunt. He took the two bottles of what appeared to be soda when Hank offered them to him and put one in each of the car’s cup holders. Hank sighed, contented, as he unwrapped the tin foil left in his hands to reveal a hot dog. Well, something that marginally resembled a hot dog. Connor couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose the slightest bit as he analyzed Hank’s lunch, cringing internally at the amount of salt and fat the thing contained.

“Lieutenant, I advise against you eating that. It’s loaded with carbohydrates and saturated fats that might cause problems down the road and...I can’t even decipher what type of meat that is.”

Hank just looked over at the android with a more-than-slightly annoyed expression. Connor looked back innocently, keeping his own expression as neutral as possible.

“Connor, what have I told you about analyzing my food?” Hank took a bite of the hot dog just to spite the android next to him and continued speaking with a smug look. “It all ends up in the same place. Everybody’s gotta die of something, so I might as well go out eating what I like.”

Connor just rolled his eyes as a crackle broke through the silence on Hank’s built-in police radio. Both detectives’ attention snapped to the radio, Hank pausing his chewing to listen attentively to the voice that broke through the static.

“All available units: we have reports of a suspected 2110 at 32 East Liberty Ave. in the Detroit outer-metro area. Requested ambulance and officer backup. There’s a deceased victim on-scene but suspect has not been found. Immediate area has been secured for investigation but possible 203; all units take extreme caution.”

The voice cut out and the two men in the car looked at each other. Hank huffed and got on the radio after swallowing the bite of hot dog he had taken previously while Connor looked out the window once more.

“This is car 639, we are en route to suspected 2110 on East Liberty Ave. ETA seven minutes.”

“Ten-four, car 639. En route to 2110, East Liberty Ave. ETA seven minutes, acknowledged.”

“Over and out.” Hank hung up the handheld speaker that was attached to the radio and Connor looked back at the lieutenant. Hank met his eyes and nodded. “Well, kid, that’s us. Guess we gotta go to work.”

“It’s a possible homicide; the suspect potentially has a gun.” Connor confirmed.

“Sounds like a normal Friday night with the boys at the station, huh?” Hank let out a short, coarse laugh and turned the ignition on with his free hand. “Especially if Reed’s involved, the fucker.”

“Be careful, lieutenant,” Connor raised his eyebrows playfully. “You might want to save some of your meal for evidence. There may be parts of the victim contained in that hot dog.”

“Har-har, smartass, really funny.” Hank glowered at the smug expression on the android’s face. “Hey, Connor?”

Connor nodded, a signal for Hank to continue.

“Is this your cousin?” Hank held up his hotdog and pointed at the tin foil wrapped around the outside of it, chuckling at Connor’s unamused expression. “Yeah, see, I can be funny, too. Let’s roll.”

* * *

  
  


It didn’t take them much longer than their estimated time of arrival to reach the scene of the crime. As they turned onto East Liberty Avenue, Connor took a minute to analyze the neighbourhood. Even without using his more advanced scanning technology, he could see that the houses in this area were in poor shape. They weren’t exactly falling apart, but most of them were old, wooden things that had moderate to severe damage marring the outer boards. Some windows facing the street were either cracked or completely broken, large chunks missing out of the glass. This was a poorer area, Connor could decipher, left behind to rot as the downtown area flourished with regrowth after android technology was developed. A lot of people living in these areas blamed androids for their continued misfortunes and Connor couldn’t help but sympathize with their plight.

He supposed he could argue that the emotional aspects of being a deviant actually helped him to become better at his job – he could now take into account how people truly felt and their motives behind crime. It was more in-depth than his criminal psychology programming could ever truly get; it was beyond simple analysis. In a way, these emotions were both a blessing and a curse: before, he was never at risk for compromising himself or the assignment because of his emotions. Now, well… He tried not to think of the consequences that could arise from sympathizing too much with criminals. There had to be a balance between the two, something that humans were trained to find when they entered the police force. Luckily, Connor had Hank to help him find that balance and it hadn’t failed Connor yet. He was good at his job, remarkably so – though it wasn’t really a surprise to anyone. He was  _ designed _ to do this, it was in his blood.

Hank pulled the sedan up to the house they were called to, snapping Connor out of his reverie. Even though it was raining, the fact that it was the late afternoon – and therefore reasonably light out – helped in terms of observing the scene and the two detectives took a moment to analyze the outside of the house. Police tape had already been haphazardly stretched across the front, there were multiple officers forming a blockade to divert any possible pedestrians from getting too close, and several forensic technicians were milling about around the front of the house. Connor figured that there were more people inside the house than outside, though. There were children’s toys spread around the small front yard, along with a child-sized bike that had been abandoned by the road. Deep in his gut, Connor hoped there were no children involved in this case. He knew Hank must be feeling the same way. Cases involving children –  _ dead, traumatized, incapacitated  _ – were absolutely the hardest to swallow. It was those scenarios that made deviancy leave a sour taste in Connor’s mouth. He  _ wished _ he couldn’t care.

Hank opened the door of his old sedan and stepped out, Connor following the man’s lead. The two men walked up to the barricade and one of the officers greeted them, almost relieved.

“Afternoon, Hank. Connor.” the man said, nodding his head and hooking his thumbs in his tool belt. It was another odd thing that Connor had found after becoming deviant and resuming his work in the DPD: officers that had come to both trust and relax around the android had begun to greet him, just as they would a human officer. It had taken some getting used to, as he had never really been acknowledged before (especially in a  _ friendly _ manner), but Connor found that he rather enjoyed it.

“Afternoon, Chris. Whadda we got?” Hank shoved his hands in his jean pockets and Connor took the opportunity to scan around the yard for any relevant clues that might be considered evidence, though he remained standing close to Hank.

“A mess, honestly. At least two victims, husband and wife,” Chris made a face, regretful, and lifted the police tape so Hank and Connor could enter. Connor lingered behind the two men, content to scan as much as he could outside the house before they tackled the inside. Footprints, blood samples, anything that might help them. He did find a faded, messy footprint in a muddy patch by the steps to the porch and crouched down in order to take in the details. “They had kids, apparently, but they’re safe as far as we know. They were staying at a relative’s when the incident occurred. They’ll stay there for now, until this shit gets cleaned up.”

Good, Connor inwardly thought, no children involved. At least, not as far as they knew. Hopefully it would stay like that. He stood and rejoined the other two police officers that had stopped at the front door to talk about the basics: whether there was a history of domestic violence, any known android involvement, financial security, anything and everything that might lead to a suspect or a motive. Chris eventually left the two to their own devices after letting them know they can call him if they needed him, and Hank looked to Connor with a thoughtful expression.

“You ready, Connor?”

“I was born ready, Lieutenant.” Hank smiled at this, briefly but warmly, and opened the old wooden door to the house. Immediately the rank smell of decay hit the two detectives in the face like a bullet train and Hank couldn’t help but cough and hide his nose in the crook of his elbow. Connor winced at the smell assaulting his olfactory sensors but almost immediately overcame it in favour of taking a preliminary look around the front of the house.

It was divided into right and left sections, separated by a central hallway that one was faced with when entering the property. To the right looked to be some sort of dining room and to the left was a living area, complete with a small television and ratty couch. Chairs were overturned in the dining room and plates surrounded by bits of food appeared to be smashed on the floor – they likely fell off the table. Perhaps the family was eating dinner when the attacker entered the house? Connor logged the possible pieces of evidence in his mental database and walked into the living room, where he found a complete mess.

There were books and magazines scattered around on the floor that look to have been thrown off the bookshelf that was shoved into the corner, the television screen had a large crack in the glass from where a blunt object must have come in contact with it, and there was a trail of blood leading to a body that was crumpled up against a wall. Connor glanced around the room to take in any more bits of evidence and found nothing more than a few blood splatters, so he made his way over to the body that had a few officers standing idly nearby, with a forensic tech examining it.

As soon as he approached, the tech looked up and gave him a polite half-smile as she stood in order to allow Connor to get to work on his own examination. He crouched down by the body and she walked off to another corner of the room to analyze one of the blood splatters that he had already briefly catalogued in his information banks. The first thing he noticed was the blunt force trauma to the head of the victim – the top of the skull was nearly caved in and a large amount of blood was pooled underneath it. Connor dragged his eyes away from the head in order to focus on the rest of the body and found severe contusions and trauma to the torso and limbs of the victim. There were two clean gunshots to the abdomen, but the final cause of death seemed to be the disgustingly severe amount of trauma to the brain. It was almost overkill. Whoever killed this man was angry, no doubt about that.

The victim – a man in his late 40s, Connor gathered – was wearing a casual-but-dirty white tank top and stained gray sweatpants but looked to have no signs of drug use or malnourishment. He looked to have been reasonably healthy while alive, nothing out of the ordinary for a man his age. There goes the possibility of a red ice case motive. Looking around to make sure Hank was in another room, Connor quickly dipped two fingers down into the sticky pool of blood beside the man’s head and lifted it to his mouth. As he tasted it, he could immediately gather more important information: the man’s name was Charles Graves, he was 48 years of age, blood type O-. He had been dead for a couple days, two at least.

Connor furrowed his brows and ran his eyes over the rest of the body to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then stood up and glanced over to the next area that was adjacent to the room he was in. The kitchen had a few more officers standing around in it, but nothing of great importance. Connor made a quick loop around just to be sure, but found nothing besides several more broken dishes and patches of bloodied wood and tile. No knives were missing and nothing seemed otherwise out of the ordinary. Strange. The attacker must have brought their own weapons, then. Connor nodded at the other officers to resume their work and made his way into the dining room to rendezvous with Hank and share his findings.

“Hank,” Connor called to the detective once he had made his way into the dining room. The lieutenant stood and turned to him after finishing his own examination of the smashed plates on the floor, attentive. “I found some evidence that I thought you might like to know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you  _ licked _ some evidence too, huh?” Connor’s sheepish silence was enough of a ‘yes’ to Hank, and he sighed before waving his hand at the android. “God, you’re disgusting! Go on, then. What’ve you found?”

“One of the victims’ names is Charles Graves, 48 years old at the time of death. Blood type O-. He was shot twice in the abdomen, but blunt force trauma to the skull is what ultimately killed him. There looks to be-” Connor glanced at the ground that was covered in broken glass and porcelain. “-signs of a struggle all throughout the house. I believe the victims were getting ready to eat dinner at the time of the attack. But…I only found one victim. Have you found the other?”

“Yeah. Marlene Graves; the wife, I assume. She’s out back if you want to take a look at her. Techs tell me she was shot once in the head, quick and clean. No other injuries besides that. Normal signs of decomp, considering she was out in the rain for a few days.” Hank paused, looking around the room and sighing deeply. “No sign of the sick bastard that signed their death warrants.”

Connor hummed thoughtfully. The man seemed to have several times more trauma to his body than the woman. Perhaps the attacker had a bias against men? But the victims’ records were clean. No history of violence, no previously-owned androids. A normal family doing the best they could with what they had. Connor’s fingers twitched at his sides, flipping an imaginary coin between them nimbly as he often did when he was deep in thought or stressed about something. Hank watched the android for a few moments before nodding to a closed door nearby.

“One more room to check out before we head upstairs. The bathroom. I’ve been told it’s, uh, in a weird way.” Connor looked at Hank quizzically, but Hank just shrugged and gestured in the direction of the door. “After you, kid.”

Connor nodded and calmly walked over to the door of the bathroom, placing his hand gently on the brass knob and turning. The door opened with a soft click and Connor peeked inside warily, ready for anything that might pop out at him. Well. Hank definitely…wasn’t lying. On the tiled walls, likely written in the blood of the victims, there were ramblings and phrases repeated countless times. Bloody handprints appeared next to the scrawled writings like a morbid signature, a testament and confession to the murders. The writings were almost…robotic. They were too perfect, too angular, to be made by human hands. Connor’s mind immediately jumped to the only logical conclusion: deviant android. But why? Why these specific victims? The android’s mind raced with the possible motives and conclusions, but nothing seemed to jump out at him. He opened the door for Hank to see and took a careful step inside the room. Jesus, there was blood  _ everywhere _ . Walls, floor, ceiling. Connor carefully stepped around the network of bloody lines that connected like rivers on the tiled floor to inspect the writings on the wall.

“Deliver me, O Lord,” Connor read softly. “Wash away the sins I have been chosen to bear.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mumbled behind him, awe and horror in his voice as he took in the grotesque surroundings. Connor honestly couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day you walked into a crime scene and found obsessive religious scribblings in the bathroom walls. Luckily, they had seen something similar with the RA9 cases. The investigation at the Ortiz residence seemed so long ago, Connor mused silently, but it might help them figure out a motive. Although, there was no mention of RA9 in any of the words written onto the white tiled walls – just that too-perfect lettering.

“Obsessive writings,” Connor concluded quietly, only loud enough so that Hank could hear. “With writing that appears to be in CyberLife’s ‘Magnolia81’ font. An android did this.”

“You think?” there was an edge to Hank’s voice, but Connor knew that it wasn’t directed towards him.

Connor just nodded and lowered his eyes to the floor. There had to be something else here.  _ Anything _ that would help. Something caught his eye as he scanned around the room at the junction where the walls met the floors and he furrowed his brows, carefully stepping over the blood trails in order to reach it. He knelt down and gently picked the thing up – it was a piece of fabric. Clothing. Underwear, to be specific. Plain black, cotton boxer-briefs that had been scrunched up and thrown onto the floor. Connor brought his gaze up the wall and found himself staring at a metal rectangle built into it, with a metal plate bordering it and four screws bolted into each corner. He slowly reached his unoccupied hand up and picked up the looser metal piece, then let it slap back down. It was a chute of some sort, that much he could gather.

“Lieutenant?” Connor looked back at Hank for help.

“Clothing chute, most likely.” Hank explained. “People throw their clothes into it when they’re dirty and it ends up in the laundry room.”

“And where would this laundry room be located?”

“Probably in the cellar. Chris told me there was a cellar door out back, but said it was completely locked shut.” Hank shrugged. “Why, are you gonna go and lick the guy’s underwear or something?”

“No,” Connor shot him a look. “But it might be worth it to go have a look down there. See if there’s something we missed. It would give me a chance to check the other victim for clues – you said she’s out back, right?”

Hank crossed his arms and let out a ‘hmph’. “Suit yourself. Follow me.”

The android stood from his crouched position and took one last look at the metal plate before following Hank out of the bathroom and into the back yard. He took special notice of some faint, dirty footprints that seemed to trail back to where they had been but continued walking behind Hank. Once they reached the door and stepped through, Connor could clearly see the second victim, the wife, laying face-down in the mud. He touched Hank on the shoulder, briefly, to tell him to stop for a moment and when Hank nodded to him he took the opportunity to quickly make his way over to the body.

She was significantly more decomposed than her husband, thanks to the warm May air and the steady drizzle of rain over the past couple days. There was hardly any blood surrounding the bullet wound on the back of her head, but Connor could gather that she had been killed almost immediately because of it. His eyes shifted nearby, to a footprint left in the mud – it didn’t match the footprints left from the standard-issue DPD boots and appeared to be close in age to the injuries exhibited on the body. Perhaps the attacker came over to see if she had somehow survived? The pieces were slowly but surely starting to fall into place and Connor was able to re-construct an idea of what had occurred that night. Connor hurried back to Hank, the LED at his temple flashing a bright yellow as he pieced together all his evidence.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Yeah? Shoot,” Hank crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.

“The attacker entered the house while the couple were getting ready for dinner. He had a gun with him, shot the husband first – twice in the abdomen. The wife ran to the back door, making an attempt to escape and get help. He stood at the doorway and shot her in the back of the head, killing her instantly, then went over to examine the body.” Connor paused, thinking. “Then he went back into the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. He saw the husband was still alive, likely trying to make a desperate crawl for freedom, and bludgeoned the man’s head in with some sort of blunt object, probably something he had found in the backyard. He then used the blood from the victim in order to write on the bathroom walls.”

Hank nodded slowly at Connor’s hypothesis, but his mouth was twisted up skeptically. “It still doesn’t tell us where the perp and his weapons are, though. Those are pretty important to the investigation, I’m told.”

“I know,” Connor deflated, just slightly. “I’m still thinking on that.”

“Think harder,” Hank uncrossed his arms and smirked, walking over to the cellar doors that were nearby – they were indeed shut with a wooden bar across to lock them in place. “Here’s the cellar. Let’s not take too long in here, yeah? I’d like to go home sometime tonight.”

The android followed Hank’s lead and glanced at the bar crossing the front of the doors. It was old and brittle, just like everything else about the house, and Connor figured it would completely fall apart with a well-placed kick. He picked his foot up and aimed between the rusted metal clamps on either side that held the wood plank in place then kicked down with all the force he could muster. The plank split in two rather easily and Connor bent down to throw the pieces off to the side and lift open the doors that had stairs beneath them. He glanced up at Hank, who lifted his eyebrows up and nodded his head approvingly before making the first few steps down into the cellar.

“Come on, Connor, let’s get this over with.”

“Right behind you, Lieutenant.” Connor stood and followed Hank down the first couple steps, taking in any and all information he could. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was hoping to find down here, but he wanted to make sure he covered all his bases and took the time to examine each room closely before they left the scene for the day. They still had to get through the entire upper level, after all, which would likely take some time. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Connor refocused on the task at hand with a renewed determination to gather as many clues as possible.

The cellar was dark, incredibly so, and it took each detective a few seconds to let their eyes adjust to the pitch black. The air down here was musty and cold, Connor noted, so it likely hadn’t been used much by the victims when they were alive. The light coming in from the open doors helped their eyes adjust somewhat quicker and Hank felt around for some sort of light switch or chain. He eventually found a beaded cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled, a resulting dim light beginning to radiate from the sole bulb hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t much in terms of a light source, but it would work. Connor took the opportunity to scan his surroundings, though there wasn’t exactly much to take in. The lightbulb was positioned nearly at the center of the ceiling, on which there were numerous cracks and dips from old age. There were a few metal storage shelves scattered around the small area, some with small tubs and crates placed delicately on top of them. Others were lying in pieces against the wall, disassembled an unidentifiable amount of time prior.

Connor carefully walked over to a small shelving unit that was shoved into a corner as he noticed there was some sort of object glinting ever-so-slightly in the dull light, reaching out to pick up the object with one hand. It was a…crowbar? An old one, at that. It was iron – rusted and chipped in some areas with the manufacturer’s brand long since smoothed out and faded, but it still had weight to it. On the rounded end, Connor could see what appeared to be some sort of liquid that glimmered when he positioned it toward the light. He had a sneaking suspicion this could be their missing murder weapon – one of them at least – and lifted his free hand up to touch a finger to the substance. It was sticky and smelled rather metallic, but it was hard to differentiate from the natural properties of iron. Especially iron that might have been left in a musty cellar for multiple years.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Hank stated firmly behind him, but Connor shot him a look and continued through with the action.

“I need to be sure, Lieutenant. If it bothers you, look the other way,” Connor looked back at the potential weapon and brought the finger to his mouth, tasting the unknown stickiness and making a face. He then put the hand down and continued to examine the crowbar. “It’s definitely blood, dated approximately to the day of the attack. Belongs to a Mr. Charles Graves – the husband in the living room. I think this might be our-”

Connor looked back at Hank with a confident expression, but the lieutenant wasn’t standing where he had been. In fact, the man was near the edge of the room, gun drawn and looking at the wall seriously. The android furrowed his brows, concerned and suddenly incredibly aware of his surroundings, placing the crowbar carefully back where he found it.

“Hank?”

Hank shushed him quickly and gestured for Connor to be silent. Connor immediately shut his mouth and quietly made his way closer to the man, noticing what appears to be a heavy, dark wooden door fixed into the side of the wall. In fact, in this light it would have been nearly impossible to see if one weren’t looking for it. But, as he stood next to Hank, he could hear a quiet string of words on the other side of the door, along with a small commotion that one could only hear in near-quiet. He silently gave Hank kudos for being able to decipher the noises and quickly jump into action. Meanwhile, Hank turned his head to Connor and whispered as quietly as he could.

“Stay behind me.”

Connor just nodded and pressed himself against the wall beside Hank as the man rapidly pushed himself off the wall and kicked as hard as he could near the lock on the door. The door swung open easily and Hank moved into the small room adjacent to the one they had been in, Connor quick on his heels and already taking in new information that could help them. The second room was much smaller than the first and had nothing in it except for a relatively long workbench and an old broom shoved into a corner by the door. On the far wall, opposite the door, there was a string of narrow windows near the ceiling that allowed some natural light to come in, although there was another lightbulb fixed to the center of the ceiling – it was somewhat brighter than the first, though, which means it either wasn’t used as much or had been changed relatively recently. Moving his eyes to the workbench, Connor could see a pair of boots with dried mud stuck to the bottoms and the laces undone. Next to that, he could make out a pair of neatly-folded pants with a similarly-folded shirt stacked on top – there was a bright blue triangle stitched into the shirt, glowing in the mix of artificial and natural light and Connor could see faint lettering but it was too faded to make out. Some sort of work clothes, he determined. There was a material spattered across what he could see of the fabric and Connor determined that it must be blood that had long-since soaked in. The room was dusty and dirty, and the folded clothes seemed more than a little out of place as they sat innocently on the bench. That wasn’t the weirdest thing in the room, though, by far, and the android couldn’t help but swallow hard at the sight he saw next.

Standing near the far wall stood a man of about average-height, facing away from the two detectives with his shoulders hunched forward. The lighting of the room made his shoulder blades look sharp and defined as they protruded from his back and shadowed the dips and ridges that made up his musculature on the planes of his back. He was nude, save for what appeared to be short, standard-issue CyberLife work briefs, and his head was bowed low in front of him. His legs were pressed tightly together, as if he were cold, and his feet were slightly pointed in towards his midline. The android was mumbling something quietly under his breath, but it was so faint that Connor was unable to parse what the man was saying. He appeared to be almost…scared? Instantly, something within Connor felt for the man and he reached out mentally, trying to wirelessly communicate, but it seemed that the man had long since disabled the feature and set up a block. He was no longer able to communicate privately with androids, Connor deduced, and the ring on his temple wavered from a bright yellow to the standard blue.

“Turn around-” Hank began, slowly but sternly, with his gun trained on the android. “-and don’t try anything funny.”

Instantly, the man’s posture tightened and he remained as still as possible – he looked like a statue that was so impacted and tense that it could crumble at any moment. Connor remained solidly by Hank’s side and waited for his chance to try and talk to the man in front of them verbally. Eventually – finally – the android turned around and his unusual expression twisted Connor’s guts into a tight knot. He looked terrified, on the verge of tears, with a seething undertone that sent chills up Connor’s spinal plates. His shoulders were tight and pulled forward defensively and one arm was crossed over his abdomen in order to latch onto his other arm nervously. He had an about-average physique, though a little on the slim and narrow side, and Connor could clearly make out the reflective white and neon-blue letters printed onto the right hem of the man’s briefs. WK300. He was a working-class android, then, likely some sort of public field or foresting work. Potentially even lumber mill work, though Connor was doubtful with how slight the man was in comparison with the average lumber mill android’s physique that he had quickly pulled from his databases.

The android – WK300 – was looking away from them, down and slightly to the right, and the fingers attached to his opposite arm compulsively rubbed at the skin there. His face was still twisted into that horrible expression but Connor ventured a small step closer. The android’s hair was messy and he looked to be covered in a grimy film – he likely hadn’t cleaned himself in at least a week or so. He could also now make out what the android was continuously whispering, and it appeared to match the writings they had discovered in the bathroom.

“Deliver me, O Lord; wash away the sins I have been chosen to bear… Light my path with holy fire and bring down thy hand on those who would harm me… For this I pray to you, O Lord…” the android’s voice cracked on the last word and he looked like he was about to break into a sob. Connor raised his hands to show no he was of no threat, but he could vaguely see Hank tense behind him.

“Hello,” he began calmly. “My name is Connor. Do you know where you are?”

The android in front of him said nothing, but his mouth became set in a deep and angry frown as he hesitantly glared up at the detectives. There were a few successive, sharp nods from the WK unit and it appeared that he was now digging his nails into the artificial skin near his elbow. Connor took another minute step forward but stopped when he saw the eyes of the other man dip to look at Connor’s feet then snap back up to his face. It was a warning, Connor knew that much. The other android’s LED ring hadn’t changed from a solid and furious red this entire time, and it didn’t look like it was about to any time soon.

“What’s your name? Do you have one?” Connor attempted a small smile, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

The android paused a minute, glancing at Hank and his gun, before replying shakily. “G-Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Connor waited for a confirming nod from Gabriel before nodding himself. “Hello, Gabriel. We aren’t…we aren’t here to hurt you. We just want to talk, is all.”

Gabriel twisted his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut, mouth twisting once more into a pained grimace. “T- _Talk_? You want to _talk to me,_ _now_? You’ve done enough talking, Connor… Too much talking…”

Connor’s eyebrows lowered into a confused but wary position, watching for any subtle signs of aggression.

“Y-you were with Markus that night,” Gabriel brought a hand up to his mouth, like he was about to vomit, but lowered it again and continued, spittle occasionally slipping out onto his lips and chin. “The night we won. You were with Markus on that wooden stage, I saw the b-broadcast. You said we would be free, we would be equal to the humans. Y-You promised things would be better.”

“Gabriel, we are equal. We’re on the same side, if you would just-”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Gabriel suddenly snapped as his upper body lurched forward, voice rising in volume. Hank readied his gun but Connor put up a hand to stop him, meeting Hank’s eyes briefly. The lieutenant lowered the gun slightly but tightened his lips and Connor looked back to the disheveled android. “I-I believed you, Connor. I believed Markus – RA9. I believed it, I believed it…”

Gabriel’s face morphed into something full of betrayal and agony and the android let out a silent sob, mouth opening and strings of spit dripping down his chin onto the floor. Connor silently urged him to continue and took another step forward. If he could just get to the other android and restrain him, this would all be over.

“Gabriel, did you hurt the husband and wife upstairs?”

Again, a sharp and concise series of reluctant nods.

“Why did you hurt them?”

“ _ You lied to me _ !” Gabriel screeched, tears running down his face, and Connor took a hesitant step back. “Y-You lied to me. RA9 didn’t  _ protect me _ , Connor! You said he would protect me, that things would be alright. You weren’t there to protect me that night, though. The night I was working a-and after permitted hours, a group of – a group of humans-”

Connor remained silent so Gabriel could continue, but the android just choked on his words again and glowered at Connor hatefully. There was so much hurt in his eyes, so much betrayal, but Connor didn’t know what he had done to betray this man. Something had happened to Gabriel, that much was certain, and he was upset that Connor and Markus hadn’t protected him? Or was he upset that the group of humans did something? This whole situation made Connor’s skin crawl, but he desperately  _ wanted _ to understand. He wanted to help, if only until the android was in custody. Perhaps beyond that, if Gabriel continued to insist he had personally slighted him. The android finally spoke again after a few moments of silent sobs wracking his body. The shaking android in front of Connor simply stood there as silent, heaving sobs wracked his body, and the detective took a moment to physically analyze Gabriel for any signs of injury or physical trauma. And boy, there was a lot to choose from. There were deep scratches in the skin covering his arms – most likely self-inflicted, Connor hypothesized, judging from the way Gabriel was incessanty digging his nails into the skin now. Dark bruises littered the skin around his neck and there was what appeared to be scarring (knife wounds?) scattered around his body. A particularly large, ugly scar glinted on the android’s tensed chest; carved deep enough for the dull white to be exposed through the tears in the synthetic skin. Whoever Gabriel said he had encountered while on-call obviously had some sort of personal vendetta against androids: these wounds were inflicted to torture the victim into submission, not for a quick and easy death. Connor guessed that the mental scarring was infinitely worse than whatever had been done to him physically and the thought made his stomach turn. 

“Do you know what my name means, Connor? I-It means ‘God is my strength’. My master gave it to me, a long time ago,” Gabriel’s knees were shaking, his whole body pulled into itself. “Do I look strong to you? RA9 couldn’t help me, so I thought maybe – maybe the human God would help me… But he was cruel, too.”

“Gabriel, please-” Connor inched forward and touched his fingers to his own chest as slowly as he could as to not startle the other android. “-I  _ want _ to help. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Gabriel stated with finality. “No one can.”

Connor’s voice was soft, pleading. “Let me  _ try _ . I know you were abused somehow, right? By humans? We can work something out-”

Gabriel’s face went alarmingly neutral and he straightened himself up to his full height, taking a few steps over to the nearby workbench pressed up against the side wall.

“ _ Don’t fucking move, shitbird! _ ” Hank barked, but the android ignored him.

Gabriel stuck his hand in between the folded shirt and pants sitting neatly near the edge of the surface and retrieved a handgun, aiming it quickly at Connor and firing without hesitation. Connor could hear two shots ring out and felt two intense points of pressure on his chest, like someone was digging their fingers into his skin, and time seemed to slow down. He could hear Hank shout his name and another shot was fired under a second after the first two rang out and while he was falling to the floor he could see a bullet entrance wound caved into Gabriel’s forehead. Connor fell back into a sitting position and saw Gabriel collapse into a heap on the floor, blue blood spattered onto the wall behind him and beginning to pool around his head like an obscene halo. It suddenly became hard to focus on anything but the building pressure in his chest and when Connor looked down he could see blue beginning to leak through his jacket. He brought a hand up to gently touch it as Hank quickly knelt by his side and wrapped an arm around his back to support him.

“Easy, son, easy. Don’t move around too much.” Hank’s voice was hurried, panicked almost, and Connor blinked hard up at him, then moved his gaze to the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

“Hank,” Connor breathed out. He could see words in his field of vision, warning him that two vital biocomponents were critically damaged and needed to be replaced before an inevitable, imminent shutdown. “Hank, I’ve been shot.”

“Yeah, Connor, you’ve been shot. Hold on, you hear me? We’ll get you all fixed up,” Hank glanced over the damage to Connor’s torso and moved an arm under the android’s legs in order to pick him up securely. “We’ll get you help – you’ll be fine, alright?”

“Hank.” Connor mustered up sternness in his voice, as much as he could. “Hank, I have t-two biocomponents critically damaged. Shutdown is…”

“Hey, no! No, Connor, you aren’t allowed to  _ do _ this to me,  _ goddammit _ .”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I should have…done something.” Connor blinked again, his vision beginning to fade into black.

“Connor…” Hank seemed to understand and leaned his forehead against the side of the android’s head in solidarity. Connor could detect grief radiating off the man in waves and he knew this was it. This was the end, there was no replacement for him since he had gone deviant. Regrets began to compile in his mind and he felt something hard in his throat.

“You’re a g-good policeman, Hank. And a good friend. I’ve really…enjoyed working with you. Don’t give up,” Connor’s voice trailed off into something unintelligible and his eyes slipped shut. Warning signs began to seem far away in his mind as the countdown that had been continuously flashing in his eyesight reached zero. Shutdown imminent.

He only hoped he could atone in the next life, should he be lucky enough to have one.

* * *

 

With Connor gone, shot to death in a musty cellar in some run-down neighbourhood outside Detroit, Hank found it difficult to get back into the swing of things. His partner – his _ friend’s _ death had taken a heavy toll on him and he began to slip back into old habits that Connor had worked hard to break. Every time he thought about the android, he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath but even then, he was unable to focus the rest of the day. Fowler had written him up numerous times in the weeks that followed Connor’s death and he refused to take a new partner. Hank had even contemplated turning in his badge, as there was nothing really keeping him at the DPD, but he knew Connor would have been disappointed. Jesus, why did the kid have to die? After all he’d been through and after all they’d been through together, it just didn’t seem fair that Connor had died in some old cellar at the hands of a random batshit insane android.

Gabriel had been killed too, at least. The one shot to the head was pretty effective in Hank’s extensive experience and he didn’t hesitate after he saw the man shoot Connor without remorse. He could still feel his partner’s weight in his arms, along with the steady drip of warm blue staining his hands and clothes. After Connor had slipped away, the LED light at his temple going from a bright red to the translucent, dull gray, Hank couldn’t help but unload several more bullets into the android’s crumpled body. Chris and two other officers had rushed into the basement a minute later, out of breath with their guns drawn. They saw Gabriel’s abandoned body and Hank cradling the deceased Connor and immediately lowered their weapons, but it took a long while to convince the lieutenant to let the android go. Hank had placed Connor down gently, though he knew the android was gone. Gone for good, this time. From that point, Hank knew things wouldn’t be the same: not at work, not at home. It was like losing Cole all over again, and it killed him inside. He had sworn to protect Connor like his own flesh and blood the day they stood in front of the Chicken Feed stand and embraced, after the revolt had ended. And he had failed. He had failed himself and he had failed Connor. 

Sitting at his desk, Hank leaned back in his chair and took another steadying breath. He’d give anything to have the kid back, but he knew it wasn’t possible. There were no replacements for deviants: they were very _ human _ in that aspect. Still, Hank couldn’t help but blame himself and the guilt was immense. If he had only been a little  _ faster _ on the draw, maybe he could have saved Connor. What’s done was done, though.

He suddenly heard footsteps approaching him and he closed his eyes. Perhaps if he pretended he didn’t know what it was, it wouldn’t hurt as much. He didn’t want to see the ghost of his partner, the indifferent shell that had replaced his partner. His curiosity took control when he heard the footsteps cease and he opened his eyes, just a little. He could see a stark white jacket with black and blue highlights, along with the model number “RK900” emblazoned on the chest. His eyes closed again as he sighed, deeply, and his heart began aching once more. 

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Caleb; I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I’m very pleased to begin working with you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> does RK900 have a name yet? someone give this boy his own name
> 
> (also kudos if you know what the encounter scene is inspired by hehe)


End file.
